


Collective Breath

by TineyMichaelson



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Character Death, Future Fic, Homophobic Language, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-23
Updated: 2015-03-26
Packaged: 2018-03-19 08:00:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3602436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TineyMichaelson/pseuds/TineyMichaelson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ian nearly felt the urge to laugh. The man who had haunted his nightmares for the last 10 plus years was staring him in the eyes and didn't even remember him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

                “So if Billy eats two of the eight pieces of pie, what percentage is that? Do you remember how to do this problem?” Ian prompted. He was sitting cross-legged on the floor in Yevgeny’s bedroom, looking over at the math homework the boy was working on.

                “You want to convert two over eight into something over one hundred, right?” Yev asked, an unsure tone to his voice.

                “Exactly. Work that out.” He smiled proudly and leaned back against the bed, letting Yev give the problem a try. “You know, pretty soon I won’t be able to help you with this stuff. I was never very good at math.”

                “Math sucks.” Yev agreed, leaning over his sheet and scribbling away.

                Ian laughed, amused by how much Yev was reminding him of Mickey more and more every day. If there had been any doubt about Yevgeny’s parentage when he was born, it was definitely gone now. He was nearly a spitting image of his father when he had been 12 years old. The blue eyes, the jet black hair, the expressive eyebrows; but most of all he had the Milkovich attitude.

                The silence of the house was interrupted when the door slammed open in the living room. Yev looked up at Ian from his paper, eyebrows up in question. Mickey wasn’t due home from work yet, and storming in like that must be a bad sign. Ian was about to call out for him when he was cut off by a sound that made his heart stop.

                “Where the fuck’s everyone at?!” A gruff, booming voice called through the house in a cheerful tone. A voice Ian hadn't heard in years. He stopped breathing as he tried to tell if he’d really just heard it. “Where’s my good for nothin’ family?! I don’t see no welcome home banner!”

                “Pops?” Yev nudged Ian, worried at his reaction. “Who is that?” Yevgeny’s voice jump started Ian’s brain. He grabbed Yev’s shoulders, making sure the boy was looking at him.

                “Yevgeny, listen to me.” The boy realized how serious this must be when Ian used his full name. They _never_ used his full name. “I want you to go into the bathroom off my room and lock the door. Call Dad and don’t come out until one of us comes to get you okay? Tell him it’s an emergency.”

                “Iggy?! Colin?! Where you fucks at!?” The voice boomed.

                “Pops, what’s goi-“ Yev started to ask but Ian stood, pulling the boy to his feet.

                “Just go, Yev.” He pushed the boy towards the door, following close behind. “Get in there as fast as you can.” He pushed Yevgeny behind him towards the bedroom. He watched to make sure the boy had listened before turning back to the problem. The guns were locked in the living room, he had no way to get to them before Terry noticed. He looked around frantically for something, _anything_ he could use as a weapon. His eyes settled on Yevgeny’s baseball bat. He picked it up, knowing it would have to do.

                “What the fuck?” A sneer came from the end of the hallway. Ian whipped around and was face to face with Terry Milkovich. “Who the fuck’re you?”

                Ian nearly felt the urge to laugh. The man who had haunted his nightmares for the last 10 plus years was staring him in the eyes and didn’t even remember him.

                “Bullshit you don’t know who I am.” He gripped the baseball bat tighter and took a step towards the other man. “Get the fuck out of my house.” He spat. With any luck, Terry would listen.

                “ _Your_ house? Who the fuck do you think-“ He started advancing  but stopped as Ian swing the baseball bat hard in his direction. He glared at Ian with angry confusion until his jaw dropped. “You’re that fuckin’ faggot. The ginger fuck.” He pointed a meaty finger at Ian.

                “Get the fuck out Terry.” Ian warned, poised to swing again.

                “You’ve got fuckin’ nerve, shacking up with my queerbo son in my own goddamn house!” He screamed, face turning red with rage as he surged forward. Ian swung at him without a second thought, but Terry saw it coming.

                He reared back and let the bat smash into the wall before grabbing it and tried to wrench it out of Ian’s grasp. Using the leverage of Terry’s pulling, Ian shoved the bat forward. A loud cracking noise echoed through the hall as it smashed into Terry’s cheek.

                Terry only lost his grip on the bat for a second, grabbing it again and using it to swing Ian into the wall. Ian’s breath left him in a huff as he hit the wall, distantly hearing picture frames hitting the floor. He saw Terry reel back to punch him and ducked at the last minute. The older man’s fist slammed through the drywall.

                Ian took his chance to kick Terry’s knee, making him fall to the floor with a cry of pain. He brought his foot back to kick him a second time, but the Milkovich man used his chance to pull Ian’s leg out from under him. He fell backwards, his shoulder connecting wall. He felt something pop and he cried out in pain, clutching his arm.

                Terry was on him in an instant, punching him square in the mouth. Before he could get another shot in, Ian reached up with his good arm, grabbing Terry’s hair. He pulled hard, the bigger man’s head snapping back as he hissed in pain. Ian used all his strength to smash his head into the wall he’d just fallen into.

                The Milkovich man screamed and pulled away from Ian’s grasp. He clutched the side of his face, blood dripping from his cheek and nose. “Fuckin faggot!” He roared. Ian was able to kick him off, trying to scramble to his feet. He knew if he could get up, he could get to the guns. He could protect Yevgeny.

                Ian barely got to his knees before he was tackled to the ground again, crying in pain as his shoulder was jostled. Terry rolled him over and secured his hands around Ian’s throat. He gasped and swung at him with his good arm. Terry’s head snapped to the side, but he didn’t lose his grip. He lifted Ian’s head and smashed it back on the ground. He saw spots cloud his vision and he swung at Terry again. The man’s head barely moved this time.

                “I should have killed your faggot ass when I had the chance.” He snarled, smashing Ian’s head into the ground once more, his shoulder searing with pain. Spit and blood was dripping onto his face as he gripped Terry’s wrist. He clawed at his hand, trying to dislodge it from his throat as he struggled to breathe.

                His head was thrown against the floor once more, making his arm fall limp at his side. His vision was blurring, blackness creeping in around the edges. His lungs burned for air as he felt himself losing consciousness. He was going to die. He’d failed Yevgeny. He’d failed Mickey. He felt tears fill his eyes as he realized this was it.

                Just when he thought he couldn't take it anymore, a gunshot rang out and he could breathe again.


	2. Chapter 2

                Mickey stuck his head under the hood of a car, staring down at the engine of the ’93 Honda Civic. What was the fucking point of repairing such a shit car? He grumbled but kept his opinion to himself as he started to work on it.

                “Milkovich!” Linda, the office manager, called over the noise of the garage. He jumped a bit and nearly smacked his head on the hood.

                “Jesus Christ, what?!” He called back across the room.

                “Phone call for you.” She nodded her head back towards her office before taking off, heels clicking against the concrete. He never got why she bothered to wear heels working in a garage, even if she was in the office section. He rolled his eyes and wiped his hands on his coveralls as he followed her to the office.

                By the time he got there, she was already sitting back at her desk, holding the phone out in the direction of the door.

                “Yeah?” He barked into the phone.

                “Daddy?” Yev’s quiet voice squeaked on the other hand. Mickey perked up. Yev only called him that anymore when he was sick or something was wrong. “You need to come home.”

                “Yev, what’s the matter? What’s going on?” He asked, brows furrowing.

                “Someone’s here. Some man. Papa made me lock myself in your bathroom and told me to call. He said it’s an emergency. I’m really scared, Daddy.” He whimpered, trying to keep his voice quiet.

                “Don’t move, I’m coming.” He ordered, dropping the phone and running out of the office. He heard Linda calling after him, asking what was wrong, but he didn’t have time to explain. He had no idea what was going on other than someone Ian thought was a danger was in his house. It could be anyone from either of their pasts.

                Mickey bolted out of the building, barely stopping to look down the street to see if there were any cabs in the area. He cursed when he didn’t see any and started running home. The garage wasn’t far from the house – he walked to and from work every day – but now it seemed too far. Now that he had to get home to protect his family.

                He pushed himself, running as fast as he could. He felt his thighs and his lungs burning but kept going, egged on by the adrenaline courses through his veins. Knowing two of the most important people in his life were in danger kept him running as fast as he could. He hated going into this blind. He didn’t know who was there or what they were trying to do, but he’d fight through an entire gang to keep them safe if he had to.

                He finally rounded the corner, seeing the house down the street. Nothing looked out of the ordinary from where he was, but that didn’t calm his nerves at all. He pushed himself even harder now that the goal was in sight. He just needed his boys to hold on a little bit longer.

 

* * *

 

                Ian gasped for breath, coughing violently. He rolled to the side as Terry fell off of him, watching through his spotty vision as the larger man shuffled backwards. He was swearing and holding his upper arm as blood seeped through his fingers.

“The fuck you think you’re doin’?!” He roared as he started to stand. He barely got onto his knees before another shot went off, catching him in the chest and sending him back to the ground. He clutched at his chest, his big mouth moving up and down but no sound came out. Ian had never seen Terry so quiet. Blood started dripping out the corner of Terry’s mouth and as Ian gasped for breath, he watched Terry take his last.

                Ian stared at Terry, expecting him to get up and charge again, like some horror movie villain. When he finally felt he could move without passing out, he pushed himself up into sitting. His shoulder and head screaming in pain the entire time, making him groan and pant. He finally turned towards the gunman, feeling relief surge through him as he saw Mickey standing stock still, holding the gun aimed and ready to shoot Terry again if necessary.

                “Mickey.” Ian rasped, voice rough from the trauma to his neck. He hissed as tried to stand, grasping at his shoulder and feeling the bone jutting at an awkward angle. “Mickey, it’s okay.”

                He watched, seeing how Mickey’s whole body was shaking. How tight the grip was on the gun he was holding. How terrified he looked as he stared across the room, eyes not moving at all. Through the fog in his head, it hit him. Mickey wasn’t holding the gun. Yevgeny was.

                “Yevvy.” He breathed, panic setting in as he took in how panicked the boy was. Yev didn’t even acknowledge him. He staggered towards him, his pain pushed out of his mind by the need to help his son. “Yevgeny, look at me.”

                Ian slowly covered the small boy’s hands with his own, biting his lip as his shoulder and arm protested against the movement. He took Yev’s finger off the trigger and flipped the safety on. He pulled the gun out of the boy’s grip and dropped it to the ground. During all this, Yevgeny offered no resistance. He was pliant under Ian’s hands as he stared straight at the body across the room. The only indication he was even alive were the short, panicked breaths making his chest heave.

                “Yev? Can you look at me?” He asked, kneeling on the ground and cupping Yev’s cheek, trying to pull his gaze away from where Terry was slumped on the floor at an awkward angle. “Its okay, Yev. Come back to me, its okay.” He whispered, watching as Yev finally came back to reality once his eyes finally left Terry, slowly connected with Ian.

                “Papa…” He sobbed before hugging Ian tightly. Ian winced but hugged him back with his good arm, pressing his face into Yev’s hair.

                “It’s okay. We’re okay.” He soothed. “You’re gonna be okay. You’re gonna be just fine.” They sunk further to the floor, Ian holding the boy tightly as he cried. They both jumped as the front door slammed open again, Mickey sprinting through.

                “Jesus fuck…” He breathed as he looked over the room in shock. “What the fuck happened?” He asked, chest heaving as he moved towards Terry, eyes staring at him in shock as Yev’s had done just moments ago.

                “Terry… he almost…” Ian breathed shakily as the situation hit him all over again. Mickey finally turned away from the body, taking in his partner and his son. He crossed the room and fell to the floor next to them, panting.

                “Shit, are you okay?” He asked both of them, trying to survey the damage. Yev seemed unscathed other than the panic he was clearly in, but Ian looked like he was about to pass out.

                “Been better.” Ian tried to joke, but the attempted smile never really made it to his face. “I think Yev’s in shock. We gotta call 9-1-1. It was all in defense.”

                Mickey paused to think about it. His roots were telling him that you never call 9-1-1 when there was a body involved, but looking at Ian – blood in his hair, arm hanging loose and his skin even paler than usual – and Yev’s apparent shock. He needed to get his family help. He pulled out his phone and dialed, explaining the situation to the operator while Ian kept trying to calm Yevgeny down.

                “It’s gonna be okay. It’ll all be okay.” Mickey muttered to the two, holding them close. While they waited, his eyes didn’t leave the opposite side of the room. The three of them didn’t move until they heard sirens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's technically the end. Thank you for all the kudos and comments so far.  
> I did have half a chapter 3 written, but I'm not quite happy with where it was going - it dealt with the aftermath and a bit of Yev's point of view.  
> I feel like this is a good ending, so I'm fine leaving it here. If enough people ask though, I can work on the 3rd chapter and hopefully get it up to scratch.
> 
> Cheers :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got some great feedback about the possible chapter 3 that got my brain rolling. I figured out how to put all the info together in such a way that made me happy, so here it is. Thanks for the support everyone :)

                Mickey had dreamed of the day he could stop worrying about Terry Milkovich. The day that the man would be out of his life for good and he would never have to worry about him again, wasn’t hiding in any dark corners or following him at night. He never imagined it like this: the love of his life nearly killed and his son having pulled the trigger to save him.

                Once Yevgeny and Ian were looked after at the hospital, the questioning began. Ian was a little fuzzy on some details – the nurses said it was likely due to the trauma to his head and the lack of oxygen – but the police seemed satisfied with what answers he could provide. Yevgeny, being a minor, got to have Mickey with him as he told his version of the story.

* * *

                 Yevgeny ended the call and curled up further on himself, hiding between the toilet and the bathtub, the smallest place he could fit. He was so scared – he’d never seen Ian act like this and he had no idea what was going on. He buried his face in his hands and took deep breaths, trying to stay quiet. He could hear Ian and the man arguing in the hall, followed suddenly by a loud thump.

                Yev tried to figure out what was going on. Whoever that man was, he was fighting Ian. He could tell that much from the muffled noise. He knew his Pops had been in the army once, but that was forever ago. What if the man he was fighting was bigger or stronger? He couldn’t just sit here anymore.

                He crawled out from his hiding space and over to the bathroom door. He unlocked the door and peeked inside the bedroom, seeing it undisturbed. He stood and looked around. If there’s one thing he’d learned from his Dad, it was that you never charged into a fight without a plan. He spotted the safe sitting in the bottom of the closet and rushed towards it. There had to be some kind of weapon in there.

                Yevgeny didn’t know the code, but he knew his dads. He tried to tune out the sound of the fighting as he punched in numbers.

                His birthday – INCORRECT.

Dad’s birthday – INCORRECT.

                His dads’ anniversary – INCORRECT.

                Pops’ birthday – CORRECT.

                Yev nearly cried with joy as the door opened, a bunch of paperwork sitting under a handgun. He grabbed it without a second thought and ran out of the room. He didn’t notice how quiet it had gotten until he entered the living room.

                He watched the bulky man choking Ian, slamming his head onto the ground as Ian tried to fight him off. Yevgeny looked at the gun in his hand, trying to remember what Mickey had taught him

                _“We don’t tell Papa, right bud?” Mickey asked, positioning himself behind Yevgeny and kneeling on the gravel._

_“Right.” He nodded as Mickey lifted his hands, the heavy gun held tightly in his own grip._

_“I promised him I’d wait until you were 14 to teach you how to shoot, but since I was taught at 8, I figure we’ll meet halfway.” He joked as he positioned the boy’s hands properly. “This is how you hold a gun, okay? Keep your elbows loose, it’s going to kickback when you fire so you have to be ready for that.”_

_Yev nodded, trying to take in everything Mickey was saying. He wanted to make his dad proud with how great he’d learn. Mickey moved Yev’s arms to set them up properly and aimed at the cans lined up under the el._

_“First rule – never have your finger on the trigger unless you’re ready to shoot. Set it here until then.” He moved Yev’s finger off the trigger, resting on the metal right near it. “Then we take the safety off.” He brought Yev’s hand over to show him the safety, clicking it off._

_“We’re gonna wait for the train, and when it comes, we’re gonna try shooting the cans, okay? Just try your best. I’ll help the first time.” He instructed, his hands placed over Yev’s. Yev nodded enthusiastically again. He could feel the energy vibrating through him as they waited for the train._

_As they heard the train coming, Mickey nodded once. “Okay, look right here and aim.” Mickey pointed at the sights. “Finger on the trigger, that’s it. Here comes the train, get ready.”_

                Elbows loose.

                Safety off.

                Aim.

                Finger on the trigger.

                The bang echoed through the room. Yev had never shot without the train over him and it surprised him. The man fell to the side, gripping his arm where the bullet had entered. Ian gasped for breath, rolling to the side and coughing. Yev was about to run over to help him when the man spoke.

                “The fuck you think you’re doin’?!” The question snapped his attention back to the man. He saw him trying to stand and let instinct take over. He raised the gun again and shot haphazardly. He watched with wide eyes as the bullet caught the man right in the chest. He fell back and started bleeding out of his mouth. He stopped moving.           

* * *

                 Yevgeny didn’t remember much after he saw the man go limp. He was fighting hard not to cry as he retold the story, not wanting to embarrass Mickey. He’d killed someone… but that man was trying to kill his papa.

                “A-am I going to jail?” He asked quietly at the end of the interview, his hands shaking in his lap. He didn’t want to go to jail. Be taken away from his dads and school and his friends.

                “I don’t think so, Yevgeny.” The officer answered politely, tucking away his notebook. “It sounds like you were just keeping your family safe.” He smiled at the boy before turning to Mickey. “It’s probably not a bad idea to look into some counselling though. He seems pretty shaken up, with good reason. It’s not every day a kid has to shoot their grandfather, but we’ll talk more with you and Mr. Gallagher when the report is finalized.” He nodded before leaving the hospital room.

                “Grandfather?” Yevgeny asked, a lump forming in his throat. Mickey cursed the officer under his breath.

                “Yeah, bud. The man you shot was my father.” He sighed, hand scrubbing over his face as he tried to figure out how to deal with this.

                “Why was your dad trying to kill Papa?” He asked, eyes wide in shock.

                “My dad- Terry didn’t like Papa. Didn’t like that Papa and I were together. I want you to listen to me, Yev.” He crouched down to get on the same level as Yevgeny, looking him in the eyes. “Terry was a very bad man. He was technically my father, but he never acted like one. You saved Papa’s life. Whenever you think about what happened, that’s what I want you to remember. You saved Papa’s life from a very, very bad man. Now that man is gone and he can’t hurt any of us anymore. Understand?”

                Yevgeny nodded slowly and reached out, wrapping his arms around Mickey. Mickey pulled the boy into a tight hug. “Let’s go see how Papa’s doing, okay?”

                Ian was lying in a hospital bed, bandages around his head and his arm in a sling. The worst of the injuries were the concussion and dislocated shoulder, the least were the cuts and bruises. He was watching TV when the two walked in and he turned to them, smiling.

                “There’s my little hero.” He spoke quietly, his voice still a little rough. He made room on the bed and Yevgeny climbed up to sit on it, Mickey taking the bedside chair. “How’d it go? You tell them everything?”

                “He knows about Terry.” Mickey mumbled before Yev had a chance to answer. “Officer Shit-for-Brains spilled the fuckin’ beans.”

                “Shit. Are you okay, Yev?” He asked, smoothing down the boy’s hair. The boy shrugged. “That’s okay. It’s a lot to deal with.” He pulled the boy closer to press a kiss to his head. “You don’t have to be okay right now. You’re allowed to not be okay.”

                “Officer said we should get him into counselling.” Mickey brought the chair closer to the edge of the bed, leaning on the edge of it.

                “Probably not a bad idea. What do you think, Yevgeny? It would be like when I go for my appointments. Talk to a doctor about how I’m feeling and all that. You could talk to someone and they can help you through it. You get to be honest and not worry about what anyone will think or feel about what you say.” Ian tried to explain it in a positive light. Not only did he know firsthand how helpful therapy is, he also thought it would be good in this situation. He didn’t want to push Yev into it. “It’s your call though.”

                “I guess.” He nodded. “Can we talk about it later? I don’t really wanna talk about it right now.” He mumbled, leaning into Ian, careful of his shoulder. “I’m just really happy you’re okay, Pops.”

                “Me too. We’ll talk about it later.” Ian agreed, wrapping his good arm around him.

                “I’m happy you’re both okay.” Mickey piped up, leaning across over the two. He pressed a kiss to both of their heads before leaning towards the roll-up table on the other side of the bed. He grabbed the jello cup and the spoon before sitting back down.

                Ian chuckled and shook his head. “How did I know? I saved it just for you.” He smiled at Mickey. Mickey flipped him off before digging in. If he kept his eyes on the two boys laying on the bed while they watched TV, well no one mentioned it.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a little rusty and I've never written a fight scene. Hope it wasn't too awful to read.  
> Constructive criticism is welcomed, but please be nice about it :)
> 
> As for the title... idk.


End file.
